


A town called Mercy

by Anonymous



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Action, And so so done, Drama, I wouldn't say realism is its strong suit, Just a little thing for fun, Kili is bitchy, M/M, Violence, Whipping, Wild West AU, Yay for hot brothers, ahem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 17:51:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: They're in trouble again, but how will they get out of this pickle?!





	A town called Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lakritzwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/gifts).



> This is a Secret Admirers Gift for [Lakritzwolf](http://lakritzwolf.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, because she's an amazing writer and an absolute sweetheart. Thank you for always leaving lovely comments <3
> 
> I am so sorry that it's late! Thank god for the event extension!

Our story begins in a little town called Mercy, bleached by the baking sun of Mexico, single road rolling through the town, three shops, saloon and perhaps fifteen houses adorning its sides.

And a jail – a jail they have decent, Kili thinks uncharitably, glaring at the man before him.

“I’m asking one last time, lad. What were you doing at the Mirkwood Mine? You shot three men dead and stole two horses. You ain’t gettin’ outta this one.”

Kili maintains his level glare. “I told you before: I haven’t shot anyone. They were dead when I found them.”

The end of the whip falls heavily to the floor, uncoiled.

“Suit yourself. We’ll do this the hard way.”

“You’re not interested in the truth anyway. Why not just hang me and be done with it?”

“Mr. Thranduil has questions. An’ he pays per answer.”

Kili tries to resist as he’s taken outside and tied to a simple wooden post. It doesn’t get him very far, but he’s not used to taking a beating lying down.

 

*******************************************************************

 

The trial doesn’t take long at all. The day after the whipping Kili can barely stand on his own two feet, his back beaten black and blue, thick, red welts criss-crossing it in an intricate network.

Still, he hasn’t told them a word.

Within two hours he’s sentenced to branding and a public hanging.

“Your screams may not last long, but they will bring consolation to the families of those you have shot in cold blood,” the judge proclaims.

The execution isn’t until the day after, so he’s able to stand straight once again as they lead him up the rickety stairs to the gallows.

People have gathered to watch: mothers with young children, drunkards, whores, some lone looking individuals with their hats pulled low over their faces.

The town called Mercy. Kili wants to laugh.

They make him kneel as the white hot iron is retrieved from the coals. He’s stripped of his shirt efficiently and immobilised by two burly men holding him down by his arms.

This will hurt – he has the presence of the mind to think – as the first hint of warmth reaches his shoulder.

 

*******************************************************************

 

There’s a familiar crack of a whip in the air, which makes his eyes fly open. The man behind him screams as the glowing iron grazes the skin of his forearm and clatters to the wooden planks.

Kili is on his feet before his brain can process what he’s doing. One of the men holding him down has jumped away, clutching at his cheek, where a long thick welt is already blooming.

He manages to shake the other man off, following the line of the whip from where it’s still wrapped tightly around his captor’s wrist straight to a pair of bright blue eyes that lock with his own in a serious expression, above a slow smirk that reveals a pair of delicious dimples.

Kili’s own grin is feral, he knows, kicking the last of the men meant to stop him hard in the shin. The first bullets start to fly about his head and he makes for the edge of the platform –

Another loud crack makes the floor disappear from under his feet. For a second there’s nothing but free fall, horses neighing somewhere close and wood splitting all around him. The whole gallows folds in on itself, its main supporting beam ripped out by a rope meticulously covered by sand and tied to two horses barely visible between the houses.

He lands heavily on his left shoulder and hisses, but rolls around, instantly searching for those blue eyes again.

“Come on!” Fili’s voice guides him, while a knife is tossed to him, allowing him to cut through the ropes as he’s running towards his brother. Bullets are now truly dancing around them in a familiar rhythm of Fili’s beloved twin colts and he registers another knife hurtling past his head and finding its mark deep in the shoulder of one of their pursuants.

By the time he reaches the horses, Fili is already in the saddle, holding the reins for him.

Beyond that there’s only gallop, the wild wind in his hair and the thunder of hoofs in the distance behind them.


End file.
